


teeth and lungs

by sarcangel



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, M/M, Meteor, Photography, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-28 23:06:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18766156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcangel/pseuds/sarcangel
Summary: They run, anyway. It’s what they’re made for. At night, the forest in winter is quiet. There’s no earth under their paws, vibrant and alive. Just snow and creaking branches, as the wind whips above; a scared rabbit that Louis unearths from its hiding spot.





	teeth and lungs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nightwideopen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightwideopen/gifts).



> happy birthday, adri! i don't know why this needed to happen in winter, except that's what happened. anyway, here's my attempt at giving you some wolf-nouis, you deserve a lot more and a lot better but i hope you have a wonderful day!!

Winter’s cold. It goes without saying, maybe, but Niall’s not used to cold like this; it freezes the air in his lungs, his nose. It’s beautiful, though. This far north, hours from the city, the world is an expanse of untouched white, glittering under the moon.

They run, anyway. It’s what they’re made for. At night, the forest in winter is quiet. There’s no earth under their paws, vibrant and alive. Just snow and creaking branches, as the wind whips above; a scared rabbit that Louis unearths from its hiding spot. There they are, still as a picture: poised, quivering in the frozen air. Louis caught in a tangle of wolf and human instinct, every line of his body stiff.

“Let’s run,” Niall whines. “I’m cold.”

Louis shakes it off and the rabbit’s gone, disappeared into the snow bank like it was never there, a trail of splayed footprints to mark its passing.

By the time they make it back, the stars are in full parade. The moon’s almost at its weakest point – seven percent, Niall estimates. Maybe six. Good enough for viewing the meteor shower; not yet optimal. The cabin’s warm, at least, a little brown square that stands between them and full wildness. If they’re going to be holed up here for the week, they’ve got that going for them.

“Home sweet home,” Louis says, bursting through the front door. “I’m fucking freezing.”

“It’s cold out,” Niall says, simply.

“Next time you’re opening the door.” Louis snaps. “Almost freezed me arse off, shifting back on the stoop. Should’ve had a dog door put in.”

Niall shrugs. “Wouldn’t fit through, anyway.” He sorts through the clothes piled haphazardly on the floor and tosses a shirt at Louis. It’s his own, he realizes, as Louis starts to pull it over his head. “Hey -” he starts, holding out Louis’ top.  

Louis grins and tugs it down. “Like it,” he says. “Wearing your stuff.”

Niall likes it, too, the way their scents combine. It still makes him want to shiver all over, stick his nose in Louis’ neck and breathe until his lungs burst.

“Come here,” he says, instead. “I’ll warm you up.”

Louis rolls his eyes and walks into him, sneaking his arms around Niall’s waist. “This is all right, I suppose.”

“Quit your bitching,” Niall says, and closes his eyes. There’s the crackle of the fire, the silky tickle of Louis’ hair against his neck.

“Just like a hot water bottle,” Louis sighs, leaning more heavily into him.

“There,” Niall says, tightening his arms. “All better.”

 

When Niall wakes up, caught somewhere in the night’s deep middle, to test the aperture settings, Louis has shifted beside him. Like it’s harder for him to hold his form here, in the formless winter; like the wind is teasing at the edges of his shape. His fur is thick and smells good, dusty dog and smoke. Niall buries his face in it for a long moment before dragging himself up and out of bed.

Photographing the Quadrantid maximum requires a certain amount of setup that’s almost impossible to perform during the day. Niall tries to sleep in, in the morning, make up for what he’s missing, but sleeping while Louis is awake is impossible. The cabin works well for this assignment, but it’s too small to hold them both for very long. Louis fills it entirely, pacing, talking, laughing, leaving trails of his things about.

By mid-day, Louis has done three phone interviews and a conference call that Niall half-listened to: return on investment, better analytics, turnover and retention. Text recruiting. Blah blah blah. It’s hard to tune it out. The cameras are set - batteries charging, lenses focused, tripods placed. There’s nothing else to futz with, and if he hears about one more feature of the new applicant tracking system, he’ll lose his mind.

Here, at least, Niall can shift at will – there are no farmers to startle, no nosy neighbors to call animal control. He leaves his clothes at the door so Louis knows where’s he’s gotten to.

Outside, the crunch of snow under Niall’s paws is crisp; the top layer has frozen overnight, like a crust of glitter. He ranges out in widening circles, startling birds and squirrels, the few inhabitants of the woods. It’s sunny, which makes it frigid, in that peculiar reverse philosophy of winter. The sky tonight will be peak viewing for the meteor shower, moon at four percent – but right now it’s flawlessly blue, not a fault in sight.

It’s a solitary venture, out here. The only prints in the snow are his own. He misses the pack, though they won’t be gone long, him and Louis. It’s less like an ache in the heart and more like a layer of skin removed, leaving him a little raw, exposed to the elements. Wind ruffles the fur on the back of his neck, and he’s suddenly cold. It’s time to head back, probably; the sun is starting its slow dip below the edge of the earth.

When Niall closes his eyes, it’s not hard to find Louis, that extra sense tuned to him like a secret frequency; when Niall opens his eyes, it’s not hard to let Louis pull him back, tug that golden rope connecting them like a fish line.

 

It’s good that Louis came with. Even if they grate on each other, at times; even if Niall needs a moment to himself. This thing between them is so new, having time alone to figure things out – what’s going to change, what’s going to stay the same – without Zayn there to needle at them, or Liam to give his well-meaning advice, has been genius.

Louis is on the phone when Niall gets back; another interview, it sounds like. Someone techy, since he’s asking about data-warehousing and a whole bunch of other shit Niall knows nothing about, a foreign language, almost. He looks Niall over, as he gathers up his clothing, and the tilt of his eyebrows makes Niall blush all over.

“Idiot,” he mutters. How many times has Louis seen him naked, over the years? Hundreds, if he tallied them up. Wear the face off someone a few times and it changes things, apparently.

He dresses quietly just inside the door, self-conscious under Louis’ sharp gaze. His stomach’s gnawing at him, empty and insistent. It’s hard to feel sexy when it’s time to eat. In the kitchenette, he can sort dinner and listen to Louis talking at the same time, the comforting pattern of his voice offset by the rhythm of Niall’s chopping.

“What’s for dinner?” Louis asks, coming up behind him. Niall doesn’t need any special hearing to pick up the whine in his tone.

“A good way to know that, is if you’d make something yourself,” Niall says, dumping onions into the pan.

“ _A good way to know that_ ,” Louis mocks, hooking his chin over Niall’s shoulder. The scrape of Louis’ stubble against the side of his neck sparks all his nerve-endings to life. There’s loads of nerve-endings in his neck, turns out.

Louis brushes his lips against Niall’s ear. “Looks delicious.”

Dinner is a simple beef stew. Since he doesn’t cook, Louis is good at not complaining about what he’s fed; Niall’s culinary adventures can only go so far, with the groceries they brought along. Baked chicken. Beef stew. Fish fingers. Pork chops.

After dinner they sit in front of the fireplace and watch a movie, something so awful Niall doesn’t bother to pay attention at all. It’s much more interesting, the way Louis cards his fingers through Niall’s hair; the way warmth can trail through him, channeling down his veins and pathways, until everything is brushed gold.  

 

The alarm goes off at two a.m., dragging Niall out of sleep. It takes a certain dedication, peeling himself from Louis’ furry side and preparing for the harrowing cold. There’s a reason this meteor shower is so often overlooked. There’s not many people mad enough to hang about with a camera in January, in the wee hours, in cold so bitter it snatches Niall’s breath away.

In the right circumstances, the Quadrantid maximum can have up to twenty meteors per hour. Spectacular fireballs, though without the distinctive tails that set other showers apart.

Circumstances are good, tonight. The wind’s died down, and his sleeping bag makes a decent cave, and in the first thirty minutes Niall gets at least sixty pictures. It’s breathtaking, in a different way: balls of burning gas and rock, making their own path through space, trapped in orbit. Visible once a year, when the earth is positioned _just_ so.

“Solving all life’s mysteries, yet?” Louis scrapes out, behind him.

“The night is young, Tommo.”

Louis is bundled up but the end of his nose is turning pink already, only one minute into the cold. Niall unzips his sleeping bag, so Louis can crawl in.

“There’s another one,” Niall says, clicking the camera’s remote control.

Louis scoots closer, somehow, until he’s practically in Niall’s lap. “I missed it.”

“Just look up. There’ll be another one soon.” There it goes, arcing across the sky. Brilliant, lonely, so far away that Niall can’t even fathom it.

“Missed that one, too,” Louis says, staring so hard at the side of Niall’s face that it’s like physical touch.

“You’re not even looking,” Niall says, giving in. He turns his face, so close that their noses brush. “I've got a job to do, you know.”

Louis pries the remote control from Niall’s fingers, pressing his own thumb on the button. “I’m on it.” He leans closer, nudging their noses together. Niall’s got one second to brace himself, and then Louis leans in the rest of the way.

It’s soft and cold, like snowflakes, before Louis presses in and kisses him in earnest. It’s ages long, and sweet, and stokes a tiny fire beneath Niall’s ribs.

“Louis -” Niall’s complaint is muffled by Louis’ lips.

“I’m on it,” he says again, pressing down on the remote, drawing Niall back in with the other hand. “I’ve got this.”

He kisses Louis back, lets his mouth blaze its own trail over his cheek and jaw. The click of the camera is loud in the quiet night; speeding up, slowing down. Who knows how many pictures Louis is taking? Enough, probably, for ten scientific journals, if any of the frames turn out. And if they don’t, tomorrow’s another good night. It’s always two nights, this phase of the moon.

 

 

[say hi on tumblr :)](https://dinoflangellate.tumblr.com/post/184756744553/title-teeth-and-lungs-pairing-nouis-words-1751)


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